Late

I grabbed my suit and rushed out the door, turned the key in the lock and flew down the stairs. Once I got outside, I realized with a jolt that my tax extension paperwork that needed to be mailed today was sitting on the lid of the piano. After mad dash back up the stairs, I frantically unlocked the door, grabbed the stamped envelope, a pen, and the necessary papers, and rushed down the stairs again. I rushed across the street and hailed a cab, annoyed that I didn't have time to take the train. I asked the driver to take me to Carnegie, and then I noticed his clock. 12:55. Please tell me your clock is fast, I muttered. I looked at my phone only to discover that it wasn't. I wanted to be at the hall at 1:00 for my 1:15 rehearsal. Now I would be lucky to make it on time. I muttered the expletive of choice, and sank back into the chair, trying to distract myself with the new TV contraption that is ensconced in most of the cabs now only to remind myself that watching it makes me carsick.

Lots of jerky starts and stops later, the clock read 1:11, I was throwing a wad of cash at the driver and sprinting down the street to the stage door. The elevator ride up to Weill felt like it lasted an eon. I bounded out of the elevator and glanced at the clock. 1:13. Enough time to drink water, throw my stuff in a dressing room, and run to the stage.

Rehearsal started. I still had that rushed feeling. That irritation that is seemingly caused by the nuisance of everyone seemingly being in the way, when in reality one is annoyed with oneself for being late in the first place. I had the burning urgency of needing to just get to the next event coursing through my veins, impatience radiating out of me at like an aura of crackling electricity. Then it dawned on me - I am where I need to be. I can relax now. I eased into the flow of rehearsal, and decided with conviction that I will be on time for our performance call time tomorrow.